


A Friend

by maria_mi_vida



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, I just want them to have a wholesome life together, M/M, One Shot, They're living in a cottage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:53:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maria_mi_vida/pseuds/maria_mi_vida
Summary: "Never in his wildest dreams could Martín have imagined his life turning out like this. After they had escaped the Bank of Spain, Sergio had paired everyone up like he did after the Royal Mint. And of course, he had to pair Martín with Helsinki. At first, Martín pretended this hurt his feelings: sure, Professor, just put the only two gays in the whole banda together, what do you not understand about boom boom ciao?"In which Martín discovers that living in the countryside with a Serbian is not as bad as he assumed.
Relationships: Helsinki | Mirko Dragic/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 17
Kudos: 44





	A Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this passage from Maurice (1913-1914) by E.M. Forster:
> 
> ‘Did you ever dream you’d a friend, Alec? Nothing else but just “my friend”, he trying to help you and you him. A friend,’ he repeated, sentimental suddenly. ‘Someone to last your whole life, and you his. I suppose such a thing can’t really happen outside sleep.’
> 
> (+ also inspired by the cottagecore aesthetic, the idea of Martín and Mirko living in the countryside together gives me life)

Never in his wildest dreams could Martín have imagined his life turning out like this. After they had escaped the Bank of Spain, Sergio had paired everyone up like he did after the Royal Mint. And of course, he had to pair Martín with Helsinki. At first, Martín pretended this hurt his feelings: sure, Professor, just put the only two gays in the whole _banda_ together, what do you not understand about _boom boom ciao_? But when he jokingly spoke these words, he realised that he actually didn’t mind as much as he made it seem to be. Helsinki was kind. Which wat what was nagging Martín. Helsinki was kind to him even though Martín had lashed out on him on multiple occasions. But there was no arguing with the Sergio, and besides, what other choice did he have? Tokyo, for God’s sake?

So he and Helsinki moved in together. Martín tried to start calling Helsinki by his birth name: Mirko. He saw Helsinki’s eyes light up a bit every time he called him Mirko and he hated himself for that. He didn’t want to give Mirko a false sense of closeness because he was certain he couldn’t give him that. Martín had let Mirko pick out the house. He felt that this was only fair, since Mirko was the one who was going to live there the longest. After having fulfilled Andrés’ masterplan, Martín saw no good reason to stick around for much longer. He had nothing to work on anymore, no soulmate to keep him company, so the only things that were left were booze, drugs and an unlimited supply of money, a combination that could only lead to bad results. Martín had already anticipated this scenario, even before they went into the Bank. But meeting Mirko introduced a new feeling onto the suicidal stage: guilt. He felt guilty at the thought of leaving Mirko alone. Sweet Mirko with the heart-shaped lollypop in his mouth.

Mirko had picked out a cottage in the countryside. It was quite a spacious one; it had a nice kitchen, a library, multiple bedrooms, and yet it felt cosy. Martín disliked it the moment he set foot in the hallway. It was too nice, no place to drink yourself towards the inevitable end. When he finally decided to go to bed somewhere in the early hours of the morning of their first night there, he tossed and turned in his bed, unable to rest. After some time, he stood up and put on his bathrobe. Barefoot he walked out, to their backyard which overlooked a valley, only to find Mirko there, smoking a cigarette. Martín made a sarcastic remark about how the British sometimes call cigarettes _fags_ , looking at the valley instead of Mirko. Mirko didn’t reply and instead offered Martín a cigarette. Martín accepted. In silence, they smoked on the little stone stairs, while the sun rose above their heads.

In the following days, Martín sort of fell back into his old habits. Reading, drinking, listening to music, drinking, sleeping. Some days he wouldn’t even come out of his room. However, there were days that were different. They were sparse, yes, but they were there nonetheless. On those days, he would go outside into their garden and sit there to read. Mirko would read as well, in multiple different languages: his own native tongue, his second language, and in English as well, which Martín didn’t know he could understand and by which he was quite impressed. He noticed that Mirko was reading much literature from and about Kenia. It probably reminded him of someone dear to him that he had lost. On those days, Martín would make them both coffee, and Mirko would force him to eat something decent. He had taken on baking as a hobby, so more often than not Martín begrudgingly ate a piece of bread or cake. Which was actually always quite delicious; the aversion turned into fondness. On one of those days, Martín had put on a record and started dancing. Mirko had joined him. They made fools of themselves, but who cared? When the music became slow-paced, Martín suddenly found himself in Mirko’s arms. He didn’t know how he got there, but he didn’t plan on leaving. They had slow-danced until the needle of the record player lifted itself from the record and the room went silent. All of a sudden, Martín left to his bedroom, leaving Mirko alone in their darkened living room.

When Martín fell onto his bed, a wave of guilt washed over him again. He felt upset about leaving Mirko alone, Mirko who had held him in his arms just moments ago. Only then Martín understood where this guilt came from: he cared about Mirko. The realisation startled him, he didn’t know he still had it in him to give a damn about someone. He thought he had spent it all on Andrés. Martín got up from his bed, walking towards the hallway barefoot. Instinctively, he knew Mirko had gone to his own bedroom, so he walked in that direction. Ironic, he thought, how now it was him coming to Mirko’s bedroom instead of the other way around. He knocked once, but when the door opened, he forgot why he had actually knocked. “Lo siento”, he said, looking away. _I’m sorry for leaving you in the living room, I’m sorry for thinking about leaving you in this world, you don’t deserve this._ Martín looked up at the taller man, into Mirko’s eyes. “Lo siento”, he said again. He read from his facial expression that Mirko understood. It was the same type of apology Martín had given to him in the Bank. Mirko stepped away from the door and offered Martín a place in his bed. Martín gave him a sad smile and nodded. They lied down next to each other, not touching. Mirko dimmed the lights and appeared to be ready to go back to sleep, but Martín felt he should say something. “Mirko,” he began. Mirko stirred. “Did you ever dream you had a friend, Mirko? Nothing else but just a friend, he trying to help you and you him.” He paused briefly, only to have Mirko turn towards him. He continued: “Someone to last your whole life and you his. I suppose such a thing can’t really happen outside sleep.” Mirko slowly moved his hand, cupped Martín’s face and placed a kiss on his forehead. His hand lingered, but he shyly removed it from Martín’s cheek and placed it between them on the mattress. Martín, suddenly overwhelmed with such gentle love, felt tears well up. He grabbed Mirko’s hand and closed his eyes. For the first time in years, they both slept peacefully.

Martín woke up from the sunlight falling on his face. He found himself alone in Mirko’s bed; this was probably the first time ever waking up in another man’s bed without having fucked him the night before. Martín smiled to himself, realising he felt calm, a feeling he wasn’t accustomed waking up to. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, finding Mirko there kneading a dough for bread. Slightly raising his dirty hands, Mirko eyed the coffee machine. Martín jokingly rolled his eyes, acting as if it was a huge task to make them both a cup of coffee. When he placed two steaming cups on the counter, he looked up at Mirko, who had proceeded kneading the dough. Their eyes met, and Martín thought maybe that it wasn’t so bad to stay around a little longer after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I've ever published! Any feedback is welcome, I hope y'all enjoyed it :-)


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